


The King and Us, aka Don't Judge Me

by Anchanted_One



Series: The Dragons of our Age, and the Heroes who Walked with Them [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Fluff, Love Stories, Multi, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Thedas (Dragon Age), Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M, courting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-01-21 10:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21298307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchanted_One/pseuds/Anchanted_One
Summary: A story about the romance between Torren Cousland, King of Ferelden, and Bethany Hawke Amell of Kirkwall
Relationships: Bethany Hawke/Leliana/Male Cousland, Leliana/Bethany Hawke, Male Cousland/Bethany Hawke, Male Cousland/Leliana
Series: The Dragons of our Age, and the Heroes who Walked with Them [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514618
Kudos: 5





	1. One walk to the Sunflora

I sat by a stall at the market, munching on some bread and cheese I had purchased. I had been deeply resentful when Shona had chosen our brother Rowan to accompany her instead of me. Did they think I’m some fragile doll or something? Haven’t I more than proven myself? It had been me who had stopped the ogre that had crushed Carver from also killing Aveline and Mother!

But when I calmed down a bit, I realized that it was probably not that they thought me weak. They wanted someone to stay behind, look after Mother. And I have to admit that I’m better qualified for the job of looking after a deeply depressed mother than most people out there are.

In the two days since they had departed on their expedition, I had overcome my resentment. In fact, I felt downright cheerful! Today, I had convinced Mother to take a trip with Isabella to a Markham fashion shop, a total change in pace to get away from the worries that dogged her every step since Shona, Rowan, and Carver had joined the King’s call to fight the Blight.

This might be the first time in over a year since Mother did something fun, not since Lothering had—I blinked. 

Was that? No, it couldn’t be! It had to be my imagination; I had just been thinking of Lothering! I quickly wrapped up what was left of my snack and put it away in my pouch, then took off as fast as I could, weaving my way through the crowd. Looking for him. It couldn’t be him. But— aha! There he was!

I reached out and grabbed the man’s hand, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around, surprised. It really was him!

“Captain Ren!” I beamed happily. “It’s so good to see you again! Do you remember me? I was in Lothering, my name is—”

“Bethany? Bethany Hawke?” The man’s scarred face split into a delighted smile. “Well, it’s quite a pleasure to see you again, alive and well!” He led me out of the foot traffic, to the side of the road where we were less in the way. “How are you? Your mother? Did your family return from Ostagar?”

“Oh yes they did,” I gave a soft laugh. I was pleased that he remembered mother and me, of the family I’d talked about. “They returned just ahead of the horde, we left with only half a day to spare before they reached the village. Rowan and Shona made it to Kirkwall with us, but my twin brother—Carver…” I trailed off, I could feel my smile slipping off my face. “He was killed by an Ogre as we were escaping.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Bethany,” the soldier said, taking my hands in his. “I truly am.”

“Thank you. It was a year ago, now.” His rough, scarred hands still felt so warm. Tears threatened to blur my vision. Was I ever going to stop feeling gut-punched when I started talking about it?

“It never gets easier,” Ren said gently, as though he read my mind. “I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head, swallowing a deep breath. “Thank you.” I cleared her throat, looked around. “Where’s your comrade? Cira?”

“She had something to take care of in Denerim,” Ren answered. “Her lover had some problem with Crows.”

“Crows?” I was confused.

“An Assassin organization,” he explained. “It’s a long story. Any place nearby we can catch up?”

“The Hanged Man is a few blocks down,” I suggested.

“A bit too loud and crowded for catching up,” he said. “Know this bakery called Sunflora near Hightown?”

I nodded. It was a fairly well-run bakery which also had a small, private diner’s. Not too expensive, but enough so that casual diners didn’t pay custom much. The bakery did a strong enough business by itself that they didn’t need the diner’s to be crowded. 

“Good, its flatbread and noodles are highly recommended by a friend so I’ve been wanting to visit. Let’s talk there!”

* * *

As we walked towards the Sunflora, I pointed out various landmarks and recounted tales of the many outrageous adventures that I had lived through—while working off our debts to the Red Irons, helping Aveline run down criminals and expose a corrupt guard, or saving enough money for the Deep Roads Expedition—and watched him laugh almost eagerly at each story. And I could understand that eagerness when he tried to talk about things that he had lived through. He had stayed during the Blight, and fought. He had fought the spawn at Denerim itself, had been fighting armies of them in the Alienage when the Archdemon was destroyed. He had taken part in hunting down as many as they could as they retreated in complete disarray.

And that was not counting the many things that seemed to pain him too much to bring it out in the open like this. As we talked, I began reminiscing out loud about those few weeks we’d spent together at Lothering. He had been irregular in that he was one of the few who had journeyed to Lothering from the north, rather than fleeing from the south. Moving towards the danger.    
He was terribly dashing too, those scars on his jaw and left cheek doing little to dent his good looks but enhancing his bearing as a veteran warrior. He was also travelling with a female elf, and perhaps—shockingly since the elf was very beautiful—the two were not lovers but still very close. They both wore simple woolen cloaks covering hard boiled leather armor and carried plain steel swords and ash bows.

They had little coin with them, so they took jobs from the Chanter’s Board. While ordinarily the Board had simple requests like additional help on farms, the sudden influx of refugees had the area crawling with predators—both animal and human. The pair put their skills to use clearing out bandits, highwaymen, wolves, bears, spiders, and even a few Darkspawn once. But when they weren’t out keeping the village safe, they both spent their time among the locals and refugees, not lording it over like some soldiers did. 

They had listened to everyone, laughed at their stories, comforted those that spoke of what they had lost, and in return they talked about the places they had been, things they had seen; though neither seemed ready to talk about their own histories, which enhanced their mystique.

Most of the younger women and some of the men had fallen madly in love with him at first glance. 

And yes, so did I, don’t judge me. And he seemed to take a liking to me too. I had invited them to our home several times, and we—Mother and I—had grown quite fond of Ren in our brief conversations. But all the while I could see the pain weighing down in his heart. 

Then the day had come when they met some of whom they’d been waiting for—soldiers of Highever. Ren had seemed disquieted when their Lord hadn’t been among them but he hadn’t any more time to wait. For this group had come shortly before another—the only survivors of the Grey Wardens who had been at Ostagar; Alistair, Karita, and Tinian. They had talked to them privately in the Chantry’s cellars, away from eavesdroppers, then made ready to leave.

Before they had left, Ren had given me a small gift—a sturdy leather pack he had purchased from a merchant, one big enough to carry enough food, water, and clothing for several days. 

_ "Do not wait for much longer," _ he had told me.  _ "A large part of the Horde should be here by the end of the week, it's best you be long gone by then. If your siblings live, they may find you if you do too." _

He had made sense, but Mother and I were both too stubborn to give up on the others. We waited until the bitter end. Our choice had paid off, at least insofar as we were alive, and together. All of us, save Carver. And we had also been forced into indentured service to the Mercenary Band known as the Red Irons. It had been… Such a difficult year. At times I wish I had died there, with Carver, near our home. 

"I'm sorry Bethany," Ren said gently. 

“Don’t be.” I said. “So many of us have lost so much. Lowtown’s full of us. Darktown’s worse. You can’t feel sorry for all of us.”

Ren nodded. “True. But there are some whom I might be able to help. It’s basically what I’ve come for—helping those I have an obligation to. Come, I’ll tell you all about it after we catch up!”

* * *

Our date… didn’t begin so well. 

We walked in the Sunflora, talking lightly about Varric’s latest  _ “Hard in Hightown” _ , to find that Isabela and Mother had also chosen to have lunch there. 

“Ohhh hello Mother, Isabela! Fancy meeting you here! Mother, you remember Ren? Bela, this is Ren, he was a soldier from Highever who I met at Lothering—”

I trailed off when I saw that Isabela wasn’t responding as she normally did to handsome men and beautiful women—no seductive smiles or double entendre greetings. Just complete and undiluted shock.

“So… ‘Ren’, is it?” Isabela laughed nervously. “Why are you in Kirkwall?”

Ren’s bearing had changed when he realized that Isabela recognized him. “I’m here to help my people. I have a duty to the Fereldens here.”

“Right!” Isabela grinned tightly. “Errrr… Bethany? ‘Ren’ here is Torren Cousland. The guy you casually walked into a diner’s with is the flaming King of Ferelden.”

Aaaand that’s when it all got awkward.

* * *

  
  
  



	2. What the silly King had to say for himself

* * *

I’m sure most people would demand that my reaction be anger or hurt. Perhaps some weeping. Drama-loving idiots. I was deeply shocked, that is true, and more than a bit nervous. So much so that after ten minutes of a terribly awkward date, I finally stammered that this was a bit much for me, and asked if I could have some time to wrap my head around this out-of-the-blue revaluation.

He looked relieved. Perhaps he too was worried that I would be upset? 

Anyway!

When I got back to Gamlen’s home, I barely heard mum call me wanting to talk. I really needed that alone time now, so I made my excuses and ran off to the Hanged Man as fast as my feet could carry me. They knew me well by now, and my family’s partnership with Varric was well known. Before leaving, Varric had handed me the key to his penthouse and told me I could stay whenever I felt the need when he was gone. And that I could have it if he ran off with his share after the expedition was over. Not that he’d ever think about abandoning this place!

The innkeep arched an eyebrow at me as I walked towards the penthouse but didn’t say anything. Varric had already spoken to him.

So I walked right in, made myself at home. Bed was, thankfully, kingsized.  _ Human _ kingsized. It also felt clean enough for a king after a year spent in Gamlen’s hovel. It occurred to me suddenly that my clothes must also stink of slum. I hadn’t even had the chance to wash them recently. Or for that matter, myself. I could feel the embarrassment rise. 

Had I really met the King of Ferelden while in this sorry state? My stomach lurched when I recalled him taking my hand, or the times that foot traffic got so bad we were pressed together for almost five minutes. Had he wrinkled his nose in disgust? I couldn’t remember… but then, if he  _ had _ shown any such signs, I would have noticed it straight away, wouldn’t I? I had been so happy to meet him; had revelled in every moment.

Thinking about it some more, I realized that before he became King, he had been a soldier. He had campaigned and fought in the mud and dirt against treacherous Teyrns and monstrous Darkspawn. And Lowtown already was a slum, so it wasn’t like I stood out in any way.

Indeed, I remembered how happy he had also been to meet me. The thought brought me no small measure of relief. I next started thinking about why he hadn’t told me. My brain started making excuses for him without much prompting; we had been out in the open and without anyone to guard him should his identity get out; he had suffered greatly and may not have wanted to talk anything about his painful experiences until we were out of the crowd. And that when we finally reached the privacy of the Sunflora, they had run into Isabella, who knew who he was and was too stunned to show any discretion even if she was the sort who was inclined to. If he had wanted to talk about any of his real history, her exclamation had ruined any effort at telling all slowly. 

I pressed my face into the pillow and tried to think of everything I had heard about the King of Ferelden. Or at least, those bits of information that had come to me from somewhat reliable sources; Mistress Miriam from Lothering, Anders, Varric, Merrill, Isabella, the Red Irons while we were working for them, and Aveline. 

Anders had actually met him once during his brief stint as a Warden, and had described him briefly; serious but kindly to the common folk; Good to mages; Distrustful of the Templars after how easily they lost control at Kinloch Hold; A friend of the Elves, not least because they had saved his life; And a highly dedicated ruler, the sort for whom duty was more important than the breath in his lungs.

Varric had spun a tale of tragedy and death, betrayal and loss, war and triumph. 

Aveline had only said—sounding surprised at having to do so—that Varric’s account was quite accurate.

Miriam had given an account from a refugee camp in the Bannorn, of the battles he had fought in—against the Darkspawn and Loghain. She had talked in detail about his initial reconstruction efforts following the Archdemon's death. She had given no indication of having met him in person though; for she certainly would have remembered him from those weeks in Lothering. He had delved into the woods countless times to gather elfroot and spindleweed. Those potions had saved many lives.

Regardless, he was like some legendary hero out of the stories, and that made me shiver again. When we’d met back in Lothering, I’d realized he was tough, but he had been beyond my expectations from the beginning. Ren had been a pseudonym.

And yet I found that nearly sufficient reason to hate him; Varric’s story had begun with the horrific slaughter at Castle Cousland, where his family had been betrayed by their old, trusted friend Arl Howe. That must have been only a few weeks before he turned up in Lothering, nearly-healed wounds still wrapped up in bandages.

He must have been worried about Howe’s spies looking for him. Perhaps he feared putting people in danger by revealing details of his real story. It’s no wonder he had kept it quiet. Even now he might have people after his life, people still loyal to Howe, or Loghain, or from Orlais or something. Giving his real name was dangerous, I understood that. And how many people give false names anyway? Me and my family had done so for as far back as I can remember.

I nodded. It all made sense. So I went down a different rabbit hole. He was walking the streets of Low- and Darktowns alone. Why? Had he (my stomach did another lurch, was this going to become increasingly common?) come to find me? Back in Lothering we had formed a connection, but surely it had felt hasty, fleeting? It certainly had to me at times this past year. I had in fact stopped pining for him months ago. It hadn’t been until his sudden return this midmorning that I had even remembered my crush on him (don’t judge me, okay?) 

I found myself wanting to meet him again. To hear what he had to say. To have that dream of a whirlwind romance again, like I’d had a year ago. I wanted to be in a story of my own— don’t judge me! 

After all, Shona and Rowan had left me out of most of their adventures (egged on by Mum no doubt. I love her, but still, I wish she didn’t treat me like her old porcelain doll collection!), didn’t I at least deserve this? Was it my lot in life to be doted upon and treasured, locked away behind some glass cabinet? Couldn’t I have some fun?

Maker, I was starting to think a little like Galmen, wasn’t I? Or… like Mum before she’d run away with Father? Well wasn't that a little uncharitable of me? Looks like I didn't care today. Come to think of it why did Mum keep me cooped up like this when she had herself hated it so much? Don’t judge me, but I was feeling very pissed with mum for no real reason.

And I was liking the idea of this dashing adventurer king more and more. If you judge me, I swear I’ll turn you into a pigeon or something, so help me! 

In my mind’s eye, I pictured us—me and Ren; Super Mage Bethany and Hero King Torren—beating off bandit attacks on a poor defenseless village, slaying vile Darkspawn in the narrow confines of the Deep Roads, finding chests filled to the brim with lost treasure, making the hottest, sweetest love under the stars and in the inns of cozy little towns—wait a second, wasn’t that Shona’s thing? 

Wait  _ another _ second, why was I getting so far ahead of myself? Our little date had been cute, but not romantic! It was just two acquaintances meeting by chance, catching up after having parted during a Blight! He hadn’t expressed any interest in an affair... Yet!

But that realization did little to derail my dreams of adventure, and I went to sleep… fantasizing, as I never had before!

_ That’s it _ . I’d made up my mind. Even if it was a brief time only, I craved adventure. The wind in my hair? The excitement of the road? Fighting bandits, wolves, bears, Darkspawn, Dragons, and who knows what else? A short, steamy love affair? Sign me up! Shona, Rowan, Carver and even wide-eyed little Merrill had not really seen their virginity as an invaluable treasure. Nor had Mum when she was younger. I wanted this dashing young man and that was that; I wasn’t going to wait, any longer. Are you judging me?

_ I’m going to see him in the morning _ , I decided. 

* * *

**About a week later**

Welp. Here I was, at the place Ren said he was staying, and, ummm...

_ This isn’t what I was expecting _ .

Even here in Lowtown there are some good Inns for the richer clientele who were simply ‘slumming it’. This place was one such; a bit too expensive for the average resident of Lowtown. And sure enough when I stepped in I didn’t notice a single Ferelden, refugee or otherwise.

The King of Ferelden had walked into a foreign City without any guards or minders. He must have left his advisors in fits of apoplexy!... I approved. My mischievous side had suddenly winked back into existence. 

I asked the innkeep about a “Ren”, and the bored-looking man gave me a curious once-over and waved me into a room on the second floor. “He’s gone out to run an errand,” he informed me in a voice as droopy as his face. “He’ll be with you shortly. If you need a drink or bite, just ring the bell.”

And just like that I’d gained access to the private chambers of a King away from his home. What if I were an assassin or something? Wasn’t he worried?

I was a bit peckish, so I took up the innkeeper’s offer by ringing the bell and ordering some bread and a cheese-and-chicken stew and some brandy—just half a glass, the last thing I needed today was to be drunk!—to wash it down. When I took my first bite of the steaming hot stew, my eyebrows shot up. This was the tastiest thing I’d had in a whole darn year!... not counting the noodles from last week's date that is. I took my time with it, eager to stretch the experience for as long as possible, but of course hot food gets cold quickly, and rarely tastes good when it does.

I must have been there for over an hour of waiting before the door opened, Ren walking in with a most hopeful expression on his face. His hope turned into a relieved, bright smile when he saw that it was me. “Bethany?”

“Hello Ren!” I smiled back just as wide. “I’m back!”

“So you are,” he agreed. “It’s so good to see you again!”

I shook my head at him. “I got in here with no trouble whatsoever. Aren’t you afraid of assassins? No secret’s that secret, you know!”

He laughed in response. “I do have  _ some _ measures in place Bethany. I have a responsibility to my kingdom not to take my security lightly. I’m sorry, but what those measures are, I cannot tell you for that self same security’s sake.”

“Ohhh,” I said. Suddenly I wondered if he really had been out on an errand. Was he really living elsewhere, with this room-- perhaps this whole inn--only serving as a decoy and a convenient meeting place? I shook myself, stood up to my full height. 

“Alright then, Ren,” I said briskly, hiding my fluttering heart behind a businesslike facade. My voice was steady, for which I was very proud of myself. “Let’s get to it. Believe it or not, I did get over my shock at your real identity. And the way it came out. But I need to know; how much were you going to tell me, if anything at all? Is there… is—” I did stutter here for a bit from nerves, don’t judge! I cleared my throat before continuing. “What I meant is… do I mean anything to you? What was going to happen after our… our date last week?”

He seemed to get nervous too at those last two questions. “Well, I was going to tell you everything, Bethany--I felt like I could trust you that much. Maybe you could even help me aiding Ferelden Refugees. Not just about my being King, but also anything you would have asked about my… my travels and misadventures. My family, Arl Howe, Teyrn Loghain, the Civil War, the Blight, the refugees of Lothering I reencountered after it fell... everything. As for what you mean to me…” his face grew red and he began to stammer over his own words. “Those few weeks together? I thought I had fallen in love with you. When I left Lothering, I was certain I was never going to see you ever again. I didn’t want to leave. I almost didn’t.”

My heart leapt. “What happened?”

“Do you remember that day? The newcomers who came up the Imperial Highway?”

“I remember them.” It was impossible to forget. There had been fifty of them, most shellshocked. At their head had been two elves—one of them wearing Dalish tattoos, a tall human man even more handsome than Ren, and a shifty looking woman--Chasind, going by her pale yellow eyes and dark hair. 

It had been rumoured that some of them were Grey Wardens, who had betrayed the King at Ostagar. Several groups of Loghain loyalists had tried to kill them, as had mobs of starving refugees eager for the Bounty on Wardens, only to be cut down like chaff. 

They stayed only a day at Lothering, and when they left, Ren had gone with them.

“They were Grey Wardens, were they not?”

“Well, there were the Wardens among them,” Ren acknowledged. “But more pertinent to me had been the survivors accompanying them. They were soldiers from Highever. My Brother’s men.”

I jumped. “Oh,” was all I said.

“Among them was his Squire, Donna. She had seen him knocked off his horse by a Darkspawn ambush in the Korcari Wilds and fall into a stream, whose currents only ran deeper into Spawn infested territory. They beat back the Shriekers, but couldn’t find his body. They thought he was dead. And when they met me, I had news of my own for them. Howe had betrayed us, taken our castle after our armies had left. My Sister-in-Law and Nephew were dead—I’d held their bodies in my hands after Howe’s men had bled them dry. There had been no word of Mother and Father, so I assumed the worst. Especially since Father really had been mortally wounded. I wouldn’t find out until much later that Howe had had him Healed so that he could prolong his suffering. So far as I knew, everyone I ever loved was dead. Everything I had ever owned had been taken from me, but for a pair of swords and some coin. The King who had promised justice had been left to die by his most trusted General; who now seemed to be fine with Howe cozying up to him. Even Anora seemed to be… at least  _ tolerating _ him. His actions seemed to have been legitimized. In time, he would have convinced the country of the righteousness of his actions. He was already spreading rumors that my father had been consorting with Orlais. When I had escaped Denerim, Howe had already gotten busy seizing my family’s estates there, raiding them for anything he could sell or just toss out, and moving in himself.

“And worst of all, there was a  _ Blight _ out there. Having lost so much, I felt too distressed, too lost to fight. I wanted to give up. Just disappear somewhere. Maybe… Maybe with you."

My heart ached for him. I had also recently lost Father, lost Carver, lost Lothering, So I thought I could understand his pain.

“But then Donna asked me about her brother Gilmore, who had been a Knight in our household. Some of the others also had family there in Highever. They dreaded how they had fared under an invading army. They didn’t want to return there, afraid of what they might find, afraid they’d be executed for being Cousland men. But even setting that aside, every last one of them had seen the Darkspawn. They knew that they would engulf the land soon. They wanted to fight, to protect their homes. And as the last Cousland, these few soldiers were my people, my responsibility. So I picked up the gauntlet. I would ensure that their families were safe. From Howe and from the Spawn. From the blasted Maker Himself, if I had to.”

“And so you chose to fight?” 

“Yes,” he bowed his head. “In all humility, I’m sure my choice saved a lot of lives. But still.” His eyes fixed on me, the force of his pain palpable. “I often thought of you. Had your siblings made it back? Had you escaped in time? Or had you been killed, another faceless casualty of the Darkspawn advance?” He seemed to want to say more, but bit his tongue. I wish I had never persuaded him to tell me about the pause later; the very thought of the Broodmother will chill my bones until my dying breath.

He exhaled, shoulders heaving with emotions he had locked away for Maker knows how long. 

“But I don't make decisions of that sort lightly. If I was going to play at being responsible, I would give all of my energy for it. Nor was I alone: Cira was with me. She and I had come to greatly trust each other in just a few weeks. She was an exceedingly capable lieutenant. For a time I travelled with the Wardens, but everywhere we went there was trouble of some kind or other. Undead attacks on Redcliffe Village, and their Arl Eamon’s prolonged illness. Senior Enchanter Uldred’s rebellion. The Deadlock of the Dwarven Assembly. Werewolf attacks on a large Clan of Dalish Elves. And all the while Civil War raged, while the Darkspawn ravaged the Hinterlands unchecked. It became clear that the Wardens had their responsibilities, and I had mine. So, I led my small force and retook Castle Cousland so we could have a strong, defensible base. It hadn’t been my intention to fight in the Civil War. All I had wanted was a fortified base to defend against the Darkspawn. But the Bannorn heard of my victory and recognized me as the rightful Teyrn, and one of the highest ranking nobles in the land. At first I wanted no part of it, but they had me trapped; by making me that offer they had placed the wellbeing of all the people living in their lands on my shoulders. Saying no was the same as abandoning them to whatever fate awaited them.

“So you took their call.”

“Yes. And just like that we were part of the Civil War. In the Middle of a flaming  _ Blight _ !” He calmed himself. “It was a right mess, but thankfully it didn't last very long. I beat Howe’s forces three times, and Loghain’s twice. Plain old fashioned luck got us before Denerim's gates just as Eamon recovered from his poisoning. Together we had enough support to call for a favorable truce. And a Landsmeet.”

He gave me a tortured look. “I didn't want revenge or justice back then. I was willing to make peace with my family's killer if that's what it took. Maker knows, Howe did try to rub my face in it the few times we met.”

“And what about Loghain and Queen Anora?” I asked. “Hadn't they promised justice?” 

“They had, back when I had arrived at Denerim half-dead. Cailan had been there then, preparing to head out with Loghain and his men. Being the son of Teyrn Cousland I was granted an immediate audience, and there they swore to bring Howe to justice. But when I met them again, they pretended to have never met me, the both of them. Not until Anora needed help maintaining her power. When she did, she was all about being the magnanimous and just queen.”

“What happened?” 

“She was being kept in one of Howe's new estates. Or she said she was, anyway. I don't trust much of the bullshit that passes through her lips. She's a shrewd manipulator, and I can not forget how she supported Howe.”

“And what did she want?”

“She claimed she had tried to speak to Howe about the truth of Cailan's death. As if he would know—he'd been in Highever at the time. He knew the truth no better than I do. Either way, she claimed he had feared her supporting us Rebels, and was holding her prisoner. She offered a partnership. She’d support us against her father, if we supported her claim to the Throne.” He turned those depressed eyes on me again. “Like I said I was willing to forgo revenge on Howe. But then…” he faltered. "In the dungeons I found him with my parents. Still alive, and barely recognizeable after almost six months of torture. Worst of all, my nephew's preserved head was nailed to a spike just out of their reach. Their only, cherished grandson. And Howe was standing right in front of them, personally heating up irons and oiling the racks for another round of torture—his favorite passtime by all appearances. Seeing him there, sneering even at that point… It was enough to make me forget my high-minded ideals. I killed him, then and there."

"Do you know how Anora took it?" I asked softly.

"I was in no state to notice her, but Cira and Leliana were with me. They both thought her surprise was feigned. I have never been able to shake off the feeling that she arranged for all of this hoping it would discredit me. And it almost did. I won’t pretend, what I did that day was brutal. But luckily the Grand Cleric saw what Howe had done to my parents and took my side on the matter. As more details about Howe’s atrocities poured out, the sympathy from both the commoners and the nobility grew even louder.”

“So her plan backfired?” I cackled savagely. “Serve her right!”

He blinked. “Forgive me Bethany. I shouldn’t be coloring your opinions of Anora. Much of my suspicions are unsubstantiated. It’s purely my own reading of what was a very turbulent situation…”

“She was making a bid for something she had no right to,” I said unflinchingly. “And if she were really such a wonderful administrator, then her handling of Howe seems quite incompetent, not to mention self-serving. Even to me.”

He nodded weakly before continuing. “It was pretty straightforward after that. Loghain had long since lost the Landsmeet’s trust, and he lost the Trial by Combat shortly after. After that, I made the mistake of raising my concerns about Anora. I spoke up about a Monarch’s obligation to provide a secure succession for their nation. Anora tried to name me and my children her heirs, reminding them that one of my ancestors had had royal blood, but the Bannorn was about as suspicious of her as I was at that point.”

“And they used her own suggestion to name you King?”

“That they did,” he sighed. “Really, she made that suggestion with some last desperate attempt at the Throne in mind, to join our side. But that didn’t work out in her favor.”

I laughed at the understatement. “How are you parents? And I heard that after all of that, your Brother did turn up alive and well.”

He nodded. “Yes. He lost an eye in the attack and an arm to infection. A swamp disease left him severely weakened and trembling. But he was shattered by Orren and Oriana’s death. By all rights they should have been in one of the safest corners of the world but evil can strike anywhere. He, like our parents, might never recover. And as for Mother and Father… they’re not long for this world, after everything they have been put through.”

“And what of you?”

He blinked. “Me?”

“Yes. You.” I was surprised how much that simple question had taken him aback.

“I… I’m just fine,” he said unsurely. No one would buy that.

“Ren… Torren, oh dearest idiot of a king I have ever known, you would have to be inhuman to be fine after everything you’ve been through.”

The look of pain deepened. “I... I will be fine. I have to be. For Ferelden. For my Family.”

“For yourself?” I asked, and the doubts in his desperate gaze grew for a moment. They looked poised to spill over, but he locked them away again. Locked, but not defeated: they would come out again, of that I was certain.

“I will be fine,” he smiled. It would have been more convincing if I hadn’t seen his turmoil already. “In any case… Bethany, I came to Kirkwall with a certain task in mind. And perhaps you can help me with that?”

My heart raced. “I’m listening.”

* * *

  
  



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